


polygraph

by PersephoneHemingway



Series: spyglass//gunmetal [8]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Ballet, Can be read as reader-insert, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Existentialism, Father-Daughter Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot Collection, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Reader with a nickname, Secret Children, Secrets, Self-Indulgent, Transitions what transitions?, Variations on a theme, What-If, reader with a name
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28869159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneHemingway/pseuds/PersephoneHemingway
Summary: an assembly of "what if john wick found out he had a daughter" ficlets
Relationships: John Wick & Original Female Character(s), John Wick & Reader, John Wick & You
Series: spyglass//gunmetal [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1477025
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. fathergrand//heirloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he's left a legacy in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _like a ballerina in a box_

&

"Does he know? About _privideniye_?"

"I have not told him. Not yet."

Charon tutted in disapproval.

“You should.”

A click of a tongue.

“I should.”

&

All eyes were on John as he re-entered the Continental.

He approached Charon at the concierge desk.

“Is the Manager at his table?”

“No. He’d actually like you to meet him elsewhere..” Charon slipped something folded from his inner suit pocket and pressed it to the countertop. John took it and opened the flap.

_A ticket to the ballet._

&

After allowing for time to enjoy the first few scenes of the ABT’s performance, Winston broke the air of formality to get on with business.

"Now that you're back, there's something you should know..."

They both kept watching the stage, neither turning toward the other. Winston flicked his chin up to indicate you, the soloist in the spotlight.

"Watch her back, Jonathan."

He squinted, and he watched. It wasn’t until the solo progressed into a series of turns that he managed to see what Winston deemed so important about your back through the movement and tulle: a paralyzingly familiar black and gray tattoo of praying hands holding a rosary _,_ among other ink across your shoulders.

"Why is she— Why isn't she with the Ruska? At the Tarkovsky?"

"She has a special place in the underworld. Some call her Persephone, others, the Heiress. I believe she prefers _privideniye_."

"She's..."

"In line for two underground empires. It was three, before you returned with a target in mind."

"What would I have— _no_."

"Oh, yes."

" _How_?"

"How any other children are made, I imagine."

" _Winston_ ," with a growl, and his angry eyes, " _how long have you known_?"

"Around five years, I'd reckon. They let her a bit more into the spotlight after you left."

It was heavy— the stone that had newly formed in John’s gut.

"Why else do you think Viggo let you go so easy? Even after the impossible task? _He had already lined up a replacement_."

"No.."

"Oh yes, Jonathan."

John’s hands tightened on the armrests.

"They'd always intended for her to be the next you, Jonathan."

A pained exhale. John made to get up, but Winston sat him back down by the shoulder without compromise.

“It’s rude to leave in the middle of a ballet, Jonathan.”

By the time John’s eyes could focus again, you’d vanished into the wings. The ballet progressed, and you danced twice more center stage before John spoke again.

“And the… _complications_ with her inheritance?”

“Viggo wants to tie her to Iosef so he’ll be able to hand off the mob to a competent heir, but he’s having a difficult time convincing her of it— or convincing her to even take the offer seriously. And of course, Iosef would never give up his promiscuous ways or irreverent lifestyle Naturally, these two cease to be problems if they’re dead, so it partly depends on what you do next.  
Most pools bet on the Ruska Roma calling her back to be Director someday, but she herself has a bid in with the High Table to run her own Continental.”

John considered.

“I want to talk to her.”

“That can be arranged.”

They watched the rest of the ballet.

&

He asked you to talk to him, so you did.

"I never had a choice."

"Everyone has a choice."

"Not me. Well, my choice was in who I would serve— but it was never a question if I would have to be of service."

You were sitting on the ledge on the roof of the Continental with your legs tucked tight to the inner wall. You’d motioned for John to join you, but he’d stayed standing. You kicked out one leg to rest it straight on the ground in an effort to somewhat close the distance between you and John.

“Really, I’m just grateful I can still dance in between. Get away from the rest of it. At least for a little bit. Dance without a gun in my hand.” You kicked out your other leg and leaned back with your hands holding the ledge, tilting your face to the sky.

“I can handle the rest. I can walk around and pretend to be someone else on someone else’s orders— it means I do as well filling these shoes in a story and making something beautiful from the pain. I don’t mind pretending to be you as long as I'm a ballerina and pretend for myself too.” You lowered yourself down from the ledge so your back was up against it in a crouch.

“Can’t dance professionally forever though, so I need to prepare.”

You looked up at John’s face. Your tongue clicked.

“I know that look. Don’t pity me. It’s how it is. It’d be nice if it could be different— but that’s what my ballet is for.”

You stood to face him, even.

“There are so many other people they could have done this to. And John Wick’s daughter or not— this is where I would’ve ended up. I mean, if you remember my mother… I was still born into the Ruska. I still would’ve been a killer. If anything, your name has given me privileges I couldn’t have afforded otherwise. Your name might have kept me alive when other names would not have. You did not give me these circumstances, or this past. I live with them, and _it is_.”

You walked past him toward the covered doorway.

“It is what I have, so I’ll take it, and I’ll make it mine.” Your hands rose.

“It’s not Tarasov’s, or the Director’s— it’s _mine_.”

“So you want a Continental.”

You turned towards John’s voice.

“Yes. What Winston has is _his_ , in a way, under the table or no. He’s showed me. And fool or not, I’ve chosen to believe him. I will be the most of this, John Wick, and you have no blame in it.”

You stepped toward him.

“This is what and who I am.” You stopped when you came to John toe to toe.

“So get the fuck out of here before you’re sucked back into this mess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, so I’m really into parents-discovering-someone-is-their-child-in-a-situation-and-being-impressed-or-distressed-by-them so I wrote out some of the mini-discoveries because these are all I ever think about SO WHY NOT WRITE ‘EM, EH?
> 
> per google translate— _privideniye_ : ghost, apparition, specter, spook, spirit, **bogey**.


	2. spin pretty//roulette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he goes to the director and asks for her best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _tops, heads, wheels, games._

_> John Wick, Excommunicado, 1 Hour._

After slamming his long-hidden rosary against the glass of the Tarkovsky’s box office, he was led into the depths of the theatre and deposited in a familiar rehearsal studio— cavernous Old World architecture, ornate mirrors, and barres all along the border— filled with ballerinas. He wouldn’t call it _nostalgic._

"Director,"

"Jardani."

"I need your best."

Just then with a preternatural sense of timing, enters _Mercy_.

The Director's eyes track to the door as it swings open.

A willowy, dark-haired woman dashes in late, one pointe shoe untied, duffel bag haphazardly flung over her shoulder.

She drops it hard by the barre, exposing the silencer of her gun through the open zipper. She crouches down beside it to fix her shoe, then digs around and fumbles a sip out of a purple plastic water bottle before recapping it, and fluttering to her rehearsal position with her arms in third.

She bows her chin to the Director, who promptly comes up behind her and pushes her shoulders down.

"Tense, _Danya_ ; and late."

" _Izvini,_ Director."

She walks around and cups Mercy's cheek; her eyes look past the Directors ear to avoid her scrutiny. The Director's other hand comes up with a handkerchief she uses to wipe the blood from Mercy's hairline.

"There. Better." The Director draws back and returns to the chair she'd been watching from.

"Begin again." 

If Mercy was at all phased by what was clearly a concussive head injury, she didn’t show it. Her balance was on-par with the other dancers—it made John wonder what her kinesthetic awareness was like when she wasn’t concussed.

He was impressed.

John’s impression turned more into despair by the time he learned who exactly she was to him.

 _Not only the best we have, but the child of the best we’ve had_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> per google translate (and/or a [handy internet article](https://www.russianpod101.com/blog/2019/09/12/how-to-say-sorry-in-russian/)), _izvini_ is an informal "sorry" in russian.
> 
> and i have this headcanon that the director would call her "danya" no matter what her name actually was, because of “jardani,” ya feel me?
> 
> ... 
> 
> in bisaya, _kasing-kasing_ means _heart_ , but _kasing_ means _spinning top_. i think about this a lot.


	3. haunt//prepare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ghosts. tethers. ties._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _privideniye_ : ghost, apparition, specter, spook, spirit, **bogey** — thanks, google translate

Winston, Charon, and John were standing around the concierge desk when two gunshots went off and the door swung open. You staggered in, disheveled, and clutching your bleeding side. You dropped your gun to pull out a coin, made eye contact with Winston, and promptly collapsed unconscious.

"And there she is now. Charon, if you would call the doctor down?"

"Yes, sir."

&

You woke. You looked herself over, made sure you could move without ripping yourself open, and wandered through the hallways and rooms of the Continental until you found the man you were looking for.

"Winston."

He looked up from his tumbler of scotch and ice.

"Tell me, why are the Tarasovs trying to kill me?"

"You don't know?"

"They had their guns out, I wasn't going to ask questions."

A smile, and a sip.

"You remind me of your father."

"What doe- oh. So something happened? He's working again? Is he _here_?"

"He is."

You frowned.

"Does he know? About me?"

"He's beginning to put the pieces together, yes."

"And?"

"He's angry."

"With you?"

"With just about everything, really."

"Can I see him?"

"You already have. He was in the lobby when you lost consciousness."

You clicked your tongue. _Winston and his specifics._

"Can I _mee_ t him?"

"If that is what you want."

"It is."

"He's at the bar."

You nodded and headed that way.

&

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

You looked at John looking back at you.

“Don’t judge, I’ve always wanted to say that.”

If his reputation was to be believed— _and it was_ — you would have to be the one to break the tension. Addy set your drink down in front of you. You sighed.

"I have no ill will toward you. You didn't know."

There wasn’t much else you wanted to say.

“Anyway, thank you for the genetic gift of high pain tolerance.”

You downed the drink (which was definitely meant to be sipped) all in one go.

“And just so you know, this _secret_ here is already well-known in the underworld. Thanks to silly things like _blood ties_ and all, I’m assuming the High Table will take your actions as my allegiance— so hit me up if you need a second. If I’m going to bear the consequences, I might as well be part of the action.”

You stood and took the first step away.

“Just ask around for _privideniye_.”

You shot a wink over your shoulder.

“I’ll be nearby.”

&

There were two reasons you told John what you did.

The first was that asking around for _privideniye_ was truly how to find you. _You had an ear for rumors_.

The second was that tossing your alias around would give him all the information he needed to know about _your_ reputation for him to make his decision.

He asked around. He listened.

&

"She does that."

"What?"

"Disappear."

"She makes herself forgettable."

"When you really ought to remember."

"She earned her alias two ways: from you, and from herself."

"She's a ghost, but there's still a reason they call her _privideniye_ and not _prizrak_."

“Yes, but it’s clear she’s not you.”

“She’s well-spoken.”

“As good of a shot as any of us,”

“But she’ll hit you before you even see her.”

“If you ever see her at all.”

&

He found you.

“What do you want?”

You turned your head over the back of the armchair you sat in to look at him.

“Oh, John. I’m surprised you found me, usually I’m the one who finds— but considering who you are, it-“

“ _What do you want._ ”

“For?”

“The job. Your _fee_.”

“Oh, you’re not hiring me.” You stood from the chair to face him with your whole body.

“You lead, I’ll follow.”

John stays silent.

You roll your eyes and wave your arm dramatically.

“I will be _of service_.”

When he still doesn’t say a thing, you click your tongue, sigh, and move a hand to your hip.

“Look, you don’t owe me a thing. Maybe you’re doing me a favor. What if I’m the one using you?”

All that moved was his lips, but you got him speaking—

“Wouldn’t want to be _haunted_.”

You smirked.

“Not everyone who dies becomes a ghost that haunts. Sometimes they just hang around. Sometimes they disappear.”

“You’re already a ghost, they say.”

“So where is it you think I go when I die?”

The corner of John’s lip twitches; your smile softens. He speaks:

“Do you know where Tarasov is?”

“Nope. But I’ve got a few good guesses.”


End file.
